No Exception
The bar is smoky, and she blinks her eyes a few times to ease the stinging. It's darker than usual in here tonight, the music louder. Or else she's just more sensitive. More on edge. That's because she knows he'll be here.
Sometimes when she comes, she sits all night at the bar, her eyes wandering over the dance floor. She is restless, unsatisfied whenever he's not there. She feels as if her night is wasted.
But tonight she knows he's coming. She can sense it in the air. A premonition, perhaps. Just a feeling. But she's certain.
She spins around on her barstool and scans the room for the familiar head of hair. She doesn't know what color it will be tonight. She hopes it will be red, though dark brown or blond would be nice too. He's never predictable. She shivers, uncontrollably.
The first time she saw him was a few months ago. Something about him caught her eye. At first she paid him no attention, but as he began to frequent her bar more and more, she became intrigued. Soon it became her tradition to retreat to a table in the far corner of the smoky room and simply observe him.
Tonight, she promises herself, will be no exception. She turns back to the bar and waves her friend, Seth the bartender, over to her side.
"What'll it be tonight? The usual?" Seth smiles at her. She merely nods, her lips turned up slightly at the corners. She taps her fingers on the mahogany as Seth pours her a glass of Chianti. She's never been one for hard liquor, and tonight, she knows, is no exception. She wants her mind perfectly clear. Just looking at him is enough for her to feel intoxicated.
She tosses her hair behind her left shoulder. Tastes her wine. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She knows what it means: he's here.
He's just walked through the door. He has friends with him this time. However, she doesn't pay them any attention. He shines like none of them possibly can. A flash of light in a dark room, that's what he is to her.
Happy that he has arrived, she slides down from her stool and makes her way to a booth in the back, the heels on her shoes click-clicking as she goes. She sets her wine glass on the table and relaxes into the plush red velvet seat. This is how she will spend her evening.
He and his friends are at the bar, now. She notices that he is sitting on the very stool that she had so recently occupied. Another smile, her eyes crinkling up around the edges.
They all order drinks, but he forgoes the alcohol for the moment and jumps up again, possibly spotting a girl on the dance floor. Ah, yes, that's it - he's half-walking, half-dancing toward a gorgeous girl with raven hair at the edge of the crowd.
She leans back and sips at her wine, letting the flavour roll gently across her tongue. She watches the sparkling deep crimson colour, the dim light reflecting through it and dancing across the tabletop. Her eyes return to him, watch as he whispers something in the girl's ear as they dance. The girl smiles.
Now she finds herself unable to tear her eyes away. His body moves sinuously, like a cat, as he dances. She breathes a little harder, crosses her legs even though she knows he can't see her.
She knows she will never go onto the dance floor, never introduce herself to him. She is content to sit back and watch. If one word is exchanged between them, one reciprocated glance, everything will change. Now, like this, she is happy.
True, she may imagine what it would be like to have a conversation, just the two of them, or feel his body pressed up against hers on the floor, but she wants to keep it just that - in her imagination. This fantasy is too sweet to be tainted by reality.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He and the black haired girl are getting very close. She has a feeling that he will take her home with him tonight.
Moments drag on, time blurs. Before she knows it, the bar is quickly growing deserted. He's still there, though. Some of his friends are gone. Now he is getting ready to depart as well. A grin has settled on his face, perhaps from the alcohol, perhaps not. She thinks not, as he hasn't had much to drink tonight.
Oh - now it's time. She sighs as he walks out the door with the black-haired girl on his arm. Propping her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on the table, she lets her eyes drift shut and pretends that she is the black-haired girl instead. She decides that deluding herself is pointless.
She opens her eyes and slings the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. Fishing out her wallet, she leaves a few bills on the table. Finishes the last few sips of her wine, stands, gives a little wave to Seth.
She'll be back tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Whenever she gets the feeling that he'll be there as well. She enjoys her role in this little drama: the observer. She sits. She watches. She returns home, empty-handed but with enough memories to tide her over until the next time.
But underneath it all, she comes back time and again for one reason: he makes her burn inside. And tonight, undeniably, is no exception.